


wait for your call, love

by chidorinnn



Series: peregrinate [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anders (mentioned) - Freeform, Anders survived Dragon Age II and is now hanging out with the Wardens, Angst, Multi, Protective Varric Tethras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chidorinnn/pseuds/chidorinnn
Summary: Healing magic shimmers through the air as she sweeps her arms in a long arc — such a far cry from the usual, subtle twitch of her fingers or flick of her wrist that it has to have come from Anders. It brings Varric back, abruptly, to a small, dingy hole at the edge of Darktown — a place that no one dared to touch for seven years because the man that worked there was far better than any of them could ever hope to be.





	wait for your call, love

He finds her over by the medics’ tent and smiles wistfully — even here, where she’s no longer in charge or beholden to anyone’s schedule but her own, she still can’t quite resist  _helping_.

She won’t call herself a spirit healer, even though that’s exactly what she is. Healing magic shimmers through the air as she sweeps her arms in a long arc — such a far cry from the usual, subtle twitch of her fingers or flick of her wrist that it has to have come from Anders. The human boy in the cot before her groans for a moment, the pained grimace in his brow easing ever so slightly. Hawke is pale with exhaustion, beads of sweat lining her brow, but she smiles triumphantly as the kid sits up.

It brings Varric back, abruptly, to a small, dingy hole at the edge of Darktown — a place that no one dared to touch for seven years because the man that worked there was far better than any of them could ever hope to be.

Varric swallows the immediate pang of bitterness with a grin. “You seen our mutual friend lately, Hawke?” he asks only partly out of curiosity. 

“Of course not, Varric,” she answers with a small frown, which Varric has come to know is Hawke speak for  _I saw him last month_  or  _Carver complained about him in his last letter so he’s probably doing all right_.

“Thank you, Lady Hawke!” says the boy in a thick Fereldan accent.

As he swings his legs over the side, Hawke presses lightly down on his knee. “Careful, Alistair,” she says, and Varric has to do a mental tally of Skyhold’s residents to determine which Alistair she’s referring to — there’s half a dozen kids named Alistair running about the castle, and he can’t keep them straight. “You’ve only just recovered.”

“I don’t know what Madame de Fer was talking about,” the boy continues, grinning as he stands up slowly enough for Hawke to not stop him. “She said you were…” Varric raises a questioning eyebrow, and the boy turns very, very red, clamping his mouth shut. “S-Sorry…”

Hawke, bless her soul, smiles sweetly at him. “It’s all right,” she said. “She and I simply have very different understandings of what is required to heal. She’s more… academic, you could say.” Varric snorts, because he’s spent more than enough time with her and Anders to know that “academic” is mage speak for  _snobby Circle enchanter_. “Can you send the next person in, please?”

“Actually,” says Varric, “I think it’s time for a break. Iron Lady can take over for a bit.”

“It’s fine,” says Hawke. “I can keep going.”

“You don’t have to,” says Varric maybe a bit more firmly than he should. Hawke winces, and the boy looks between them uncertainly. “Just…” Varric sighs. “Go get Madame de Fer.”

The boy bows and says, “Of course” before running off. There isn’t much in the way of conversation as Hawke gives a tremendously weary sigh and wraps her arms around her torso, folding in on herself a little. She’s no Anders, no matter how hard she tries to be, here at Skyhold — she doesn’t have his seemingly unlimited reserves of mana and stamina, and her smile, tired and practiced as it is, lacks the warmth that drew nearly all of Kirkwall to the clinic’s doorstep.

—and if Varric could go back and rewrite the whole damn thing, make the world see just how amazing and wonderful  _all_  of them were, not just Hawke, then he’d do it in a heartbeat because damn the Chantry and their  _expectations_. It’s an old bitterness that compels him to seek out Hawke’s hand then and squeeze tightly. 

She slumps into him, her head hitting his chest from where she’s sitting, and he adjusts his arms so that they're wrapped around her shoulders instead. “Carver won’t tell me,” she says so quietly that he has to strain to hear it. “I don’t know if all this business with Corypheus is—Anders could be—I don’t  _know_ —”

“Hey,” says Varric just as quietly, pressing his cheek into her hair and rubbing her arm. “He’ll be fine. He’s tough.” He doesn’t dare voice his own thoughts — that if everything goes smoothly, then it’s all too likely that the Chantry will get to him long before Corypheus. 

 _Blondie_ , he doesn’t dare say aloud, _if you die, then I’ll kill you._


End file.
